


The shadow light casts

by Daretobeforgottenagain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Bashing, Dark Harry, Elemental Magic, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Powerful Harry, Prophecy, Runes, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daretobeforgottenagain/pseuds/Daretobeforgottenagain
Summary: It hadn’t been Charles becoming the boy-who-lived that started it. Harry had always been neglected, less loved than his brother. It seems an awful thing to imagine, one unlikely of the potters-but it was true. The prophecy was just an excuse to take things further.





	1. Prologue

**Authors Note:** _I wanted to write a wrong BWL story without making the Potter's treatment of Harry seem too unrealistic. Make no mistake, it will be abuse, but I will attempt to explain it more than it only occuring because Harry is not the BWL._

_Nobody in this story is what you might expect them to be. My Remus will be more sadistic and easily amused. My Sirius fighting with his past, but not how you may think. My James a pranking prat, it with a twist. My Lily, not who you think at all. My Snape-vulnerable._

**Warnings** : _This chapter has nothing disturbing in it, unless Snape laughing could be counted as such._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

XxX

When Harry was born, it was with a full head of hair, and a full set of teeth. He was pulled from his mother’s warmth, into the sterile coldness of the hospital room, and didn’t make a sound. His brother, soft and wrinkly and toothless, screamed and wailed, and broke the spell that had arisen from Harry’s odd appearance.

Sirius- Harry’s godfather- held him before Lily did. He looked into green eyes that seemed remarkably focused for a new born, and felt something in him settle and swell with warmth.

Beside him, Remus was looking at his own Godson who was swaddled in red, and cradled in Lily’s pale hands. The child-Charles- had not stopped crying, but the two parents were sharing a relief-filled smile. All too often the birth of twins in families with no history of them usually resulted in the youngest one dying. The final, necessary burst of magic twins receive from a mother is usually taken and horded by the oldest twin in the womb, and used to procure a smooth exit into the real world. The other one is left to struggle with a severe handicap. Usually, they suffocated before the mother could deliver them.

In the womb, magical children relied on magic, not oxygen or nutrition, to survive. Any well-blooded foetus anyway.

Sirius mentally hit himself for thinking something even slightly derogatory about muggleborns, but it was true. Only Wizarding children born of other wizards and witches went through this.

_Muggleborns weren’t born with magic after all._

Judging by Harry’s small size and Charles’ plump appearance, obviously it had not been the elder who had horded the magic, even though Harry was born first. Sirius suspected it had been a continuous thing, but decided it didn’t matter.

Both of Prong’s children were finally here, and both seemed healthy.

He bounced Harry a little in his arms, and was rewarded with a slight widening of green eyes. Beside him, Remus chuckled and nudged his shoulder.

“He’s a cutie isn’t he?”

Sirius pretended to be affronted, and put one hand to his heart, manoeuvring awkwardly behind Harry’s back to do so.

“As if my cub could be anything by insanely handsome and devastatingly charming! Cute is a word not to be associated with such a lady-killer Remus. You’d best remember that.”

Harry yawned and stretched one hand up to rest on Sirius’s wrist. Immediately Sirius was cooing and rubbing his cheek against the baby’s, ignoring Remus completely to mumble nonsensically into Harry’s hair.

Remus coughed and smiled bemusedly. He turned back to James and Lily, who were alternating between looking at a now quiet Charles and a sappy Sirius. Both were smiling.

A soft knock came at the door before it opened swiftly and quietly. Severus Snape stood there looking as dour as usual, but Remus could see a sense of nervousness hidden deeply behind his frown.

“What are you doing here Snivellous?! How did you get past the nurses?”

A furious James jumped up from his place beside Lily, and advanced threateningly towards the Slytherin.

“James Potter! You will sit down right now or so help me, you will be the first and only to change and feed the twins!”

James threw a fuming look towards Snape, but turned and made his way back to Lily. He apologised softly to Lily who held a now fussing Charles.

Snape had closed the door by now, and moved a step further into the room. Remus was surprised that Sirius hadn’t said anything, but when he looked over he saw Sirius covering little Harry’s ears and looking exasperatedly at James.

From her place on the bed, Lily spoke up quietly.

“I asked him to be here James. We agreed I could choose a Godparent.”

“Yeah, but I never thought you meant Snivellous! I thought you’d choose Alice or something; someone who wasn’t scum of the earth.”

Lily looked furious and slowly handed Charles to a nearby Remus. A loud slap sounded throughout the room.

James had his face turned away from lily, turned by the force of the blow. It was already turning red, but he didn’t make a sound.

“Severus. I asked if you would be the godfather to one of my boys two months ago, and you agreed. Now you just need to choose one.”

Severus nodded slightly in remembrance, and turned to face the children, obviously wary of turning his back on James.

The first child he saw was a red, wrinkled thing. Remus held it with both arms, and smiled amusedly at him when the child whimpered. It was wrapped in Gryffindor colours, and wore a little red beanie. It was ugly and smelt odd, and he saw nothing of his friend in it. He sighed internally and moved to the next one.

As soon as he saw it, he knew that this was it. This one was meant to be his Godson.

“What is the child’s name?”

It was Sirius that answered.

“His name is Hadrian James Potter.”

He was looking at Snape with a calm expression Severus had never seen on him before. One of his hands was clutched tightly by the child, and as he looked a little closer, the other tiny hand shot up and clutched firmly to his nose.

He froze, tensing heavily. It was only a child. It could do nothing to him. It was not ridiculing him.

As these thoughts and more went desperately through his head, the child moved his hand and smacked him gently on the cheek. A tiny spit bubble swelled and burst from the child’s mouth, dribbling over his chin and onto the soft blue blanket. A spot of spit landed on Severus’ eyelid.

Sirius was staring opened mouthed at Snape, waiting for something horrible to happen, but it was to everyone’s surprise when he straightened up and began laughing. He laughed deeply and thoroughly, and by the end, was nearly crying. Snape cut an amused glance at a gaping Sirius and turned back to Lily.

“I accept my role as second Godfather to Hadrian.”

A band of blue the same colour as Harry’s blanket snapped into place on Snape’s wrist, in the exact same location as Sirius’.

Lily gave a small smile, and tightened her grip on James’ hand in warning.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

Snape nodded, and glanced at Harry.

“I hope it was not too presumptuous, but I brought a present for the child. It’s a plush but I assume all children have a fondness for them. It’s what Minerva informed me. “

Remus handed Charles to Lily again, and backed in a corner to watch the events unfold. James was visibly displeased with the entire situation, and was throwing Sirius and Lily dark looks.  Sirius, who alternated between staring at Harry and Snape, seemed immune to the whole situation, but Remus knew he was aware of everything.

Snape waited for lily’s acceptance, and then reached into his outermost coat to retrieve the teddy. When his hands emerged, they were clutching the softest looking toy Remus had ever seen. It was a unicorn, with silky white hair and a delicate silver horn. Its mane glimmered gently, and when Severus moved, Remus could smell lavender and vanilla wafting towards him.

It was a beautiful teddy, and he could see by the gentle look on Sirius’ face that he agreed.

Snape set it next to Lily, and she picked it up with one hand to marvel at it better.

“It’s so soft. I’ve never felt anything so…”

Snape coughed and grit his teeth.

“It’s magic-infused and hand made. It’s enchanted for peace and easy sleep; as long as he has it, I’ll always be there for him.”

Lily looked awed, and even James had a begrudging look of gratitude on his face.

It was a surreal moment of silence between friends and rivals; only the quiet sniffling of the youngest Potter broke the air.

Charles, after the silence incurred by Snape’s initial arrival, began crying again- this time in loud piercing shrieks. His little face was becoming wet with tears and snot, and he wiggled ferociously in Lily’s arms.

Lily began to panic; she acted instinctively and dangled the unicorn over his grasping hands, bobbing it up and down until he grasped at it with chubby fingers. He pulled on the unicorn angrily until Lily let go, whereupon he pulled it down and buried his sticky face in its mane, breathing quickly and shakily.

He had stopped crying, and fell remarkably quickly into a light doze; his hands remained wrapped around the horn, squeezing and flexing reflexively in sleep.

Lily and James were awed by the quick silence, and James even deigned to throw a short nod of thanks at Snape.

For his part, Snape didn’t look like he cared either way, but was eyeing the dirtied toy with annoyance; its first real time being used and it wasn’t by his own godson. He felt a sharp stab of irritation towards Lily, but smothered it quickly. The child had been crying- of course she had acted instinctively.

He glided over to say goodbye to little Hadrian, finding a secret delight in the way his little hands fluttered towards him when he neared. Sirius was still clutching him tightly, but he was allowed to gently run the tips of his fingers over Harry’s soft, fine hair, smiling a tiny smile as he did.

He gave a brief nod to Black, rolled his eyes in the direction of an obviously entertained Lupin, and gave one last look to Lily and the other baby, where he was still drooling on the unicorn.

As he walked through the door, he felt the beginnings of a headache spread its barbed fingers in his brain. Light flashed in his mind, followed by cupboards and unicorns and snakes, and he felt a jolt of alarm burn in his stomach.

He quickly turned on his heal, looking urgently back into the room. The door slowly swung closed, and as it did he saw James, Lily and Charles, sitting calmly on the bed and glowing with happiness.

_The perfect family._


	2. The boy in the attic

**Authors Note:** _If Petunia can act like she does towards Harry in the books, than it’s conceivable that Lily can too in my story. The only difference is that Harry is her actual child. But I suppose it disturbs Lily further, knowing that a child she detests came from her._

_Also, James is a bully. He’s spoilt and prejudice and very narcissistic. I gathered this from the books and expanded upon it._

_You’ll find out why Charles was declared the chosen one in the next chapter._

_Also, in this story, a child can remember major life events, even if they were very, very young. Let’s put it down to magic. They also develop quicker mentally, so no reviews on how certain things are impossible at certain ages etc. This story contains magic. Enough said._

**Warnings:** _Contains neglect, sad Godfathers, and yelling. I still don’t have a Beta._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

Whether it was the water that dripped steadily from the ceiling, or the wind that streamed from a perpetually broken window, young Harry Potter was cold.

He lay on a cot in the far corner of the attic, hidden from immediate view upon entry, but unfortunately close to the window.

When he had first been sent to live here, he had weighed the pros and cons of his sleeping space with care, and ultimately decided that the few seconds of warning he could have before the door opened was worth the occasional damp night.

He stood by his decision, even though his bed was beneath one of the largest holes in the roof; the entire roof was riddled with them anyway, and his family had not seen fit to fix them.

Right now, he had settled for the damp softness of his mattress over the semi-dry wood of the floor. He was lying stationary beneath his covers, looking at his ceiling with wide, wet eyes.

He was six.

Yesterday had been his birthday. The house had been decorated with all sorts of wonderful things: colourful streamers that wished passers by a pleasant day; balloon animals that danced; cakes eight tiers tall; even a Pegasus that allowed the children to touch it.

Harry had seen all of this, locked in his room-from the window.

None of it was for him. His brother Charles was the one and only person of honour. None of the children that had visited even knew of the other Potter child. Their parents never questioned anything.

His mother, Lily, had been the one to lock the door. Never before had she ventured to the attic, even when he had first moved there.

She had climbed the ladder, clad in a wonderful dress that Harry felt made her look even more beautiful than she usually did. It was plum coloured and a heavy silk, and completely impractical for climbing ladders with.

Sitting on the edge of the hole, she glowed in the darkness as she looked around for him.

He had walked forward cautiously, with fragile hope fluttering in his chest like the wings of a tiny bird. For the first time he could ever remember, she was looking at him.

Usually, he was allowed out of the attic for special occasions, of which his birthday was included. He was allowed to walk among people of all shapes and sizes, and see things he had only dreamt of.

The year before, he had spent the day playing with his brother’s pet kneazle. It was a wonderful kitten named Godric, and had the sweetest disposition and the softest fur. He hadn’t been allowed into the main room once the children arrived, but Godric had kept him company.

It had been a wonderful day, and the memories kept him warm when it rained.

But yesterday, seeing his mother there, in _his_ room- he had been so happy. He had been stupid.

_ Flashback _

_“Hadrian?”_

_Lily’s voice rung bell-like against the high ceiling and narrow walls._

_“Where are you Hadrian?”_

_Harry walked forward, gliding over the wood like it was air. He stood quietly, waiting for whatever his mother was here for._

_She said nothing once she saw him, and for the first time in several years, truly looked at him._

_He was painfully thin and deathly pale, with long curly hair that shone nearly blue in the darkness. He had delicate hands that were twisting the hem of his shorts nervously, and a tiny mouth that had been bitten and chewed into a permanent state of redness._

_He was as fragile as a flower in winter, and just as beautiful._

_It was unnatural for a six year old. It was unnatural period. But perhaps the most unnerving thing about him was his eyes._

_When he had been born, they had been a deep emerald green. A child born with eyes like that was unusual enough, but over the last few years they had lightened into a green so bright and acidic, they were almost the exact same colour and shade as the killing curse._

_They weren’t her eyes anymore if they had ever been, and they frightened her._

_Seeing the boy standing there, more patient, more beautiful- more everything than Charles- brought a bitter taste to her mouth._

_He was nothing like either of his parents. If she hadn’t done the tests, she would have suspected him for a changeling. But he had been like this since birth. Strange. Silent._

_Unfamiliar._

_She had given birth to this thing, and every time she looked at him, she felt the sins of the world fall down upon her._

_Both she and James had tried to give it a chance, but they felt no connection to the boy. And James’ natural hatred for anything different or unwanted had bled over into that relationship. She had tried resisting initially, but after Charles was declared the chosen one, she had given into her inexplicable distaste and dislike with a sigh of relief._

_She wasn’t a bad person. Sometimes, you couldn’t help yourself._

_He was given shelter and food, books for boredom, elves for company. They would pay for his education and act as his guardians, but they would not-_ could not _\- love him._

_There were worse fates._

_James had banned Severus from visiting the manor and with him Sirius and Remus. They couldn’t understand the difference in how the twins were treated, and had tried to change things._

_She had been tempted by their offer to adopt Harry, but she had been reminded of their image, and what the public would think. The moral of Wizarding Britain was on their shoulders. They couldn’t afford to make mistakes._

_They had declined, and cut all contact with them. Remus included._

_If James had taken his anger out on Harry, well…better him than his friends. Better him than little Charlie. All humans had flaws._

_And so Harry had been banished to here, the attic, where he was only allowed out occasionally- when they felt it proper. He was still the heir after all._

_But that would be fixed now, and all they needed was his blood._

_“Hadrian, come here and hold out your hand.”_

_Harry did as he was told, and Lily grabbed his hand, pulling him carelessly towards her. She turned his hand over and pressed the sharp side of a dagger into his palm, collecting the blood as it fell. She showed no care, and offered no support, but Harry was silent regardless._

_His silence made her grit her teeth and shove him away once she was done. Immediately afterwards, she placed a cork gently in the vial, taking great care not to contaminate it._

_She tucked the small glass tube into the front of her dress and waved her wand to clean the droplets of blood that had fallen onto it._

_She turned away from him and began to descend the ladder without another word, ignoring the hiccups of grief she could hear being smothered by a tiny hand behind her._

_It was too late to gain affection with emotion. It was too late for any form of affection._

_The door slammed shut with an echoing bang and a cloud of dust, and with it, Harry felt the tiny bird singing in his chest die._

_His hand had bled for as long as he had cried._

_ End Flashback _

For years, Harry had tried to be a good child.

He had been courteous and kind, and suffered his mother’s tongue and father’s occasional fist in silence.

He had given in to the whims of his brother, and accepted everything his parents told him patiently.

He was a mistake.

He was not wanted.

He was alive only upon the strength and will of his brother.

Harry had buried his grief over the loss of his uncles deep down in the pit of his stomach where it bubbled and grew and still he had said nothing.

Harry had sacrificed a lot to be the perfect child- but never was he good enough.

Harry’s biggest secret had remained locked away within him, far beneath his grief and pain. It was a daily struggle not to turn to it and every day was spent feeling like a stranger in his own skin. He called it the darkness, and truly it was.

His earliest memory was of a sea of blackness, cradling him in his crib. His brother had been lying beside him, asleep and unaware, while Harry was being nurtured and comforted by a roiling cloud of black.

It was why Harry had never cried as a baby, and why he had slept through the night, every night. The darkness had been his mother and his father, and when Lily had seen it once, it had been his protector too.

Lily had no memory of it now. But the feelings remained.

_ Flashback _

_It was one in the morning and for once Charles had not woken the house up with his tears and screams. He had done so often enough that she had woken up anyway, tense in the unusual silence._

_She had left her bed, soothed a tired James back to sleep with a few drops of sleeping potion, and walked her usual path to the twin’s bedroom. The paintings that were not asleep gave her tired nods of greeting on the way, a few sneered and turned their backs- the Potters were still purebloods after all, and she was still a muggleborn._

_The room was not far away-only couple of hallways- and she found herself standing in front of the closed door quicker than she thought she would. It was a soft cream and had been painted by magic, inscribed carefully with the twin’s names upon their birth as a gift from James’ dead ancestors. It was family magic._

_Charles had been painted on the door in the same blue as a robin’s egg, looping in a large, curly script all over the place. It was surrounded by joyous baby animals: a griffin, a sphinx, a phoenix, all painted in delicate colours and rotating slowly around the letters. The kneazle waved its tail at her._

_Hadrian’s name was difficult to see at first. It was written in a cramped, spikey handwriting that only took up an eighth of the space that his twin’s name did. It was silver upon first glance, blending into the background carefully, but when you saw it, it bled into a deep mercury colour that burned itself into your eyes._

_There were no animals surrounding Harry’s name. There was nothing._

_Whenever Lily saw it she felt something cold grip her heart and steal the breath from her lungs. The differences between the two painted names were as stark as the differences between the twins themselves, and only little Charles seemed normal either way. She couldn’t imagine why Harry’s name had appeared so, or why it terrified her, but it did._

_She feared for a moment the irrational feelings that fell upon her when she thought of it, but dismissed them easily. It was an Evans trait to fear the unknown; as close to a blood trait as muggles could have. It was only Lily’s wit and charm, and strong resemblance to both of her parents that allowed her to attend Hogwarts and not only attend, but remain favoured at home as well._

_It was no wonder Petunia was bitter._

_Sighing, she turned the handle and entered the room, waiting a moment for the gentle blue of the nightlight to brighten slightly. When it did, she wished it had not._

_One of her children- Harry- was hovering slightly above the mattress, swaddled in a cloud of black smoke. She felt a wave of fear crash into her; fear for Harry, fear for Charles, fear for herself. She wanted to stride forward and banish whatever it was away from her children. Charles was lying untouched for now, but who knew what would happen._

_She stepped forward, wand cautiously extended to find some way of banishing the entity, when she noticed something strange._

_The entity, whatever it was, was coming from Harry._

_As she watched, tendrils of darkness flowed from Harry, wafting gently from his nose and ears, and from behind his closed eyes. His tiny hands, clenching and unclenching, were gripping the darkness as if it was a teddy bear._

_His actual teddy bear- the unicorn-was on the other side of the crib near Charles._

_She screamed. It was instinctive and primal, and full of fear and revulsion. She turned to leave, to run and rouse James and get help, or hide, or anything- but as she did, several things happened._

_The shadows that had previously been cradling a peaceful Harry placed him swiftly next to his brother with gentle arms. They rose up, a wall of writhing and twisting black, and streamed towards her._

_She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. The shadows pierced her with cold fingers and wormed their way into her mind. There, they saw everything._

_Charles always being changed first. Fed first. Bathed first._

_Charles being held by a blissful James. Then a blissful Lily. A silent Harry watching._

_Charles with a unicorn, while Lily read and James did paperwork._

_Lily silently comparing the two to her and Petunia._

_Lily ignoring the first and only time Harry cried in order to tend to an always crying Charles._

_Lily breastfeeding Charles while Harry nursed a bottle._

_James never touching Harry, since Severus had been so taken with him._

_James frowning at Harry and pushing his toys away when he thought nobody was looking._

_James leaving Harry in the crib one day while Lily was out, when he was only two months old._

_The shadows saw all of this and more and mourned their child’s future. They could protect him from the consequences of what tonight might bring, but it would only delay the inevitable. Still, they reached further into Lily’s mind, tearing careful holes where tonight would be, swallowing the memories into themselves until they had completely disappeared. They gave her the suggestion to return to bed, and pulled away from her mind with little effort._

_They trailed obediently back to Harry, where he waited with outstretched arms and wet eyes that were painfully aware._

_ End flashback _

After that incident, Harry had hidden it away. He was scared of how his mother had reacted and the loathing she had shown. He had cut off his own happiness, for a chance at a normal life.

That had not happened.

And now, he could feel it again, cold and calm beneath his skin. It ran soothing fingers down his spine, and filled his heart with anger and bitterness. More than a six year old should know.

The emotions scared him, but they were more real than any others he had ever felt. They were like a shock of frigid wind against a face that had never seen the day.

It was as if he hadn’t been breathing air for the past five years. He felt real, and complete, and completely uncaring of what his parents wanted anymore.

He wasn’t going to hide from himself any longer, much less his family.

XxX

In a surprisingly clean kitchen, a surprisingly happy house elf was cleaning.

Due to the subservient nature of house elves, this would not have been a surprise until you realised two quite important things:

  1. The kitchen was in number 12, Grimmauld place.
  2. The house elf was a particularly miserable elf called Kreacher.



Not to be outdone by his own house and an old elf, Sirius Black was currently sitting in the main living room, conversing quite amiably with Severus Snape.

Remus Lupin was there too, listening to the conversation with half an ear. He was more interested in the book on magical creature treaties in his lap, but he followed along quite capably.

“-another push for complete disclosure. I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore! He can marry who he wants and stand by Dumbledore, but his mother was a black. He was raised as all traditional purebloods were. I don’t know why he’s doing this.”

Sirius was leaning forward and gesticulating feverishly. James’ rejection had wounded him badly, but not as badly as being forbidden from seeing his godson. To cope, he had leapt into politics and focused on bringing the house of Black back to its prior standing as a political, financial and magical powerhouse. It was his bad luck that James had done the same thing.

Beside him, a tired looking Snape sighed.

“I never claimed to understand anything Potter does; I suggest we leave his reasoning out of it for the time being. It won’t go through- having the Prime Minister know is alarming enough for the government; I doubt letting the entire cabinet know is pertinent.”

Once his Uncle had died- alone and without an heir- Severus had been given the Prince seat by right of blood. He had entered the political arena at the same time as Sirius for similar reasons, and ironically, they supported the same issues and voted the same way. It was their political agreeableness and shared heartache that had brought them together, with a little help from a scheming Remus.

Snape had moved into Grimmauld Place after two years of Sirius’ urging.

At first he resisted. He had been developing feelings for Sirius that were beyond tolerance and companionship, and more romantic that repugnant. He hadn’t liked it at all. He saw no reason to move from his own house- hated though it may be- and into the home of a friend and his lover. Feelings aside, he had no idea why Sirius thought three grown men living together was a fine idea.

He knew he was attracted to both males and females, but after Lily, he had never found somebody else that caught his interest. But then he had met Sirius at the ministry, and had gone on to find a person he could connect with. Sirius understood him in a way Lily hadn’t, and had never tried to. He never judged him, and never asked for more than he could give. He was surprisingly gentle with him, and considerate of his thoughts and feelings. He was what Severus had never even hoped to have, not even late at night when nobody would judge him for his dreams.

In turn, Severus tried to listen to Sirius as well, and found it not to be a hardship at all. He put up with Sirius’ frequent fretting and mood swings, and occasional dark fit, and found himself reading his novels aloud whenever they felt the link with Harry throb, to distract both himself and his friend.

It was perhaps this- their shared link with Hadrian- that had caused him to give in. He was alone in Spinners end with only memories and whiskey to keep him company, and the emotions he felt from the connection to Harry had nearly driven him insane. Sirius had felt the same things, and hurt the same way he hurt, so after decent amount of resistance, he accepted and moved in.

A week afterwards Remus had told him in a fit of laughter that Sirius was in no way sleeping with him, and that despite his reputation as a bookworm at Hogwarts, it had actually been him that was the lady’s man- Lady, being the operative word.

Sirius was as straight as a bendy straw, and currently very single.

Severus had blushed for the first in his life, and very quickly sworn a hysterical Remus to secrecy. It was fairly obvious by the fit of jealousy that had inspired his inquiry, that he was interested in Sirius. But his crippling sense of self-esteem and respect for Sirius had made him determined to say nothing. It was his obvious and apparently natural lack of hope that had sobered Remus up.

Four months later he had been ambushed by a frustrated, determined Sirius. There had been no questions and no discussions. They had spent the night discovering themselves and each other properly for the first time in their lives, and in the morning, had carried on as if it was the most natural, perfectly rational thing in the world; which it may as well have been.

Remus had reminded them of silencing charms, and that had been that.

So now, roughly eight months later, they sat in the living room discussing the latest thing that James Potter had made a mockery of.

“You’re right, of course; it’s just that wizards don’t seem to have much sense anymore, and I’m worried that they’ll wake up one day and decide it’s a perfectly dandy thing to expose ourselves to muggles.”

Severus smirked.

“Sirius, the only dandy thing here is you.”

Remus snickered as Sirius flushed, then rolled his eyes and eyed Snape’s flared sleeves in disbelief.

“You have a flower in your button hole Sirius; I doubt any of Severus’s shirts can contend,” said Remus, closing his book with a toothy smile.

Sirius looked down at his shirt, staring at the orange bloom peculiarly.

“Remus you mutt! What did you do to my button?”

He rose to say something further, when something stopped him. Beside him, Snape was equally as still.

Both of them were looking at their wrists in disbelief, where a thin band of blue had appeared and was shimmering brightly. It was throbbing, as it did whenever Harry was upset or in pain, but something was different.

Before their eyes, the band flashed, and faded to silver. It hardened and flattened into the equivalent of a leather cuff and began to etch itself with random patterns and shapes that as the light caught it, made the cuff appear indistinct and formless- like smoke in morning fog.

The men were bewildered and troubled, but all three knew that something very important had happened. Two of them in particular could feel it, deep within their souls. Their little Hadrian was not their little Hadrian anymore.

But perhaps this was better.

_Flashback_

_Every time Severus was afforded time to himself either as a break from research or work, he visited one of his Godsons._

_He had spent the first two years of Harry’s life visiting when possible, sitting with the quiet child in peace on each visit. Harry had never talked, or smiled, but he could feel the happiness radiating from his bond whenever he was there._

_Lily had tried to get him to sit with Charles as well, but the other boy had been too loud and too wet. He had pushed Harry over whenever they were put together, and eventually, Lily stopped trying. He didn’t care, Harry was a wonderful child. He had no interest in the other one._

_Harry looked nothing like either of his parents, even if his eyes were green, and his hair was black. He was a tiny, doll-like child, and Severus had never seen anything so beautiful. Even his other Godson Draco wasn’t as faultless, though he was just as well behaved, and equally as lovable._

_He could see the animosity James held towards the child, and the blind eye Lily turned to it, and he worried. But until the night he had been magically banished, he had given his worry no voice._

_It had been the twins’ birthday, and he had turned up early. Gringotts had sent him notice of a possible inheritance and will reading which he would be required to attend that day. It began just before the twins’ party was due to start, and he had no idea when it would end._

_He placed his presents on the table in the main hall, and wandered off in search of Lily to apologise for the inconvenience; if he also wanted to spend a few moments relaxing with Harry, who could blame him?_

_He hadn’t found Lily. After enquiring to a house elf, he was told she had left to pick up a cake._

_He had found James instead._

_In the living room, James was bouncing a happy Charles on his knee; the baby was laughing and bright red in glee. It was a picture perfect moment, except for a few things that were unnoticeable at first that were very out of place._

_In the far corner of the room cowered a house elf. It was crying large, wet tears and gazing sadly at the other corner. Its red uniform was clean but wrinkled, having been wrung far too many times by despairing hands to matter._

_It was to the corner closet to him- the one the elf was looking at- that Snape found his eyes being drawn most urgently, and what he saw drew a red veil over his eyes._

_Hidden mostly by shadows was a small wooden crib; in it, sat Harry. He was naked and dirty, sitting pitifully in his own waste; he was staring at his father and brother with wide, blank eyes._

_Snape said nothing. He strode over to Harry and picked him up, gently wiping him clean with the edges of his cloak. A child could not be magically scourified, but clothing could._

_He conjured a trickle of warm water and a jet of warm air, and finished cleaning Harry without a word._

_“What the hell are you doing Snape? Put my son down!”_

_“Your son! Your son…! You incurable blight of a man, how dare you call this child your son?”_

_Severus cradled Harry closely and strode over to James with fire in his heart and rage sharpening his tongue. He opened his mouth and was about to tear into the man that had tortured him mercilessly for the best part of his childhood, when Lily entered at a run from the kitchen._

_“Severus? James? What’s going on?”_

_James sneered and gestured with a single, agitated hand towards Severus._

_“Snivellous here thinks he can show up unexpectedly, disrupt my children on their birthday, and then ignore and lecture me on how I parent!”_

_Lily looked between her friend and her husband. She looked briefly at the terrified, obviously frozen elf, and the filthy cot, and stared for a good few minutes at James._

_She turned to Severus and gestured reluctantly for Harry._

_“I’m so sorry Severus; I should have made James have the elf tend to him.”_

_She looked at James with her pretty face twisted into a mask of agitation._

_“The party starts in 15 minutes James, surely you could have had everything ready?”_

_Severus clutched Harry closely to him, and stared at his friend in horror. Never had he heard such callous and thoughtless words from Lily, let alone a mother._

_He tried to keep a hold of Harry, but Lily plucked him from his arms with surprisingly strong fingers, and placed him immediately down upon one of the sofas._

_“Lily? James?”_

_Sirius and Remus, who were also early and who had appeared sometime after Lily, were staring at the scene in apprehension._

_James turned to face his friends, looking at their pale faces and cautious expressions with ire so strong Sirius flinched, before turning back to lily._

_“This is Snape’s fault!” he spat, “I was alright with him being a figurehead, or a lost link to your youth-whatever! But I am not alright with him coming in and interfering with something that isn’t his business. I gave it a chance Lily, I did for you, but as head of our household I have final say in this, and I’m enacting it now.”_

_He swung around towards Snape, and with his face rippling in hatred and agitation, banished Snape from the wards._

_The last thing Snape saw as he was sent spiralling away were green eyes._

_Sirius and Remus had been ejected shortly afterwards, obviously for similar reasons. They had attempted to get the full story before they said anything damning, but James had only made things worse. Their anger and disbelief was just as terrible as Severus’s, and a frustrated James took little time in banishing them as well._

_The importance and prestige that came with his son’s fame had made James into something more than the bully he had been, and into something completely heartless. He had always been cruel. Now even his friends could see it._

_Even his child._

_ One year later _

_Severus was on his third glass of whiskey, but still, he could feel Harry’s pain echoing down the bond._

_Harry was nearly three now, and it had been almost a year since he had seen him. The meetings at Gringotts had wielded a title and an inheritance, but he had been too miserable to do anything with the money but ignore it._

_He had entered into politics as a means of distraction, but it wasn’t until he met Black again that he had truly thought of making a difference. Together, they were slowly establishing a political foothold, and building up a cautious alliance._

_James was preventing any attempts of reconciliation that a desperate Severus had been making, and Lily hadn’t attempted to contact him at all. Despite his history with James, Black had been equally as unwanted, and every message he sent had been returned- even the offer of adoption.  Eventually his disbelief had given way to desperation, and later- grief. They spent a good amount of political meetings sitting in miserable, companionable silence._

_It was Black that stepped from his fire place now, eying his full glass of whiskey with red rimmed eyes. He carried an armful of paperwork and a thermos full of soup, and gave Severus a tired smirk as he sat down uninvited._

_Severus sighed, and for the first time all year, forwent his token protest and accepted the peace that Sirius’ presence brought. He put down his scotch and moved to stoke the fire, sitting down next to Sirius on the sofa afterwards to help him with what he needed._

_That was also the first night Sirius asked him to move to Grimmauld Place._

_ End flashback _

In a house, in an attic, sat a little boy. The boy’s name was Harry, and he was six.

Harry was a good boy.

Currently, Harry was glowing- his forehead in particular. Shadows were pouring from every inch of his skin in tiny wisps and twisting upwards towards the ceiling, curling towards the scar on his head like a cat curls towards heat. The smoke was cool and wonderful to touch, and Harry embraced the darkness it brought with a smile. He had missed his darkness. His mother had hated it- his father had hated _him_.

To the shadows, Harry was a very good boy indeed.

_XxX_

_1 year old: Lily saw ‘The Darkness’. Her memory was erased_

_1.5 years old: The Dark Lord attacked and was vanquished. Charles was declared the boy-who-lived._

_2 years old: Snape, Sirius and Remus are banished after the twin’s 2 nd birthday party. Both enter politics a month or so later. Severus and Sirius become friends over the year._

_3-5 years old: Sirius tries to get Snape to move to Grimmauld place._

_5 years old: Snape moves in. After 4 months, Sirius propositions Severus and they become romantically involved._

_6 years old: Current time._


	3. Marrow, methods, and attempted murder

**Authors Note:** _Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. I’m trying to develop a story that isn’t a cliché in the realm of wrong BWL stories._

**Warnings:** _Not really. Very, very, mild gore?_

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

 

_ 31/10/1981 Samhain _

_Voldemort stood outside the Potter’s residence, watching the neighbourhood children pass by in costume, laughing and smiling._

_Beside him were Lucius and the Rosier, who were polyjuiced as children. They were both blond and both dressed up- Lucius as a vampire and Evan as a cowboy. Voldemort himself was dressed in a long black cloak and holding his wand, which had been transfigured to look like a scythe. They were the most mundane and common costumes Lucius could think of, and looking at the sea of near identical costumes in front of him, Voldemort could only agree._

_They had forgone illusionary magic as a means to hide themselves as a result of the many wards that surrounded the area and Moody’s ever watchful eye. Aside from Dumbledore, Pettigrew and the two mutts, only Mad-eye had been given the house’s secret._

_Currently, Wormtail was inside babysitting the children while the two Potter’s went on a date. As always when the elder Potter’s ventured out- Moody secretly watched the house on Dumbledore’s orders. Dumbledore was not as trusting as he would have you believe, but neither was Pettigrew as stupid. It had been Pettigrew that realised he was being watched, and Pettigrew that had worked out the man’s schedule._

_In about one minute, Moody would apparate home to have a shower, take a pepper-up, and swallow a nutrient potion. He would return in 10 minutes, as he always did, and settle down for the rest of the night until the Potters came home._

_A cracking noise came from behind them, and they turned around to see the lights in the main bedroom flick on._

_This was the signal, and as he saw it, Voldemort reversed the transfiguration on his wand. They had timed it perfectly, and just before they stepped into the wards, the polyjuice potion on his two followers wore off._

_They stepped into the house to find Wormtail waiting calmly, and with a deep bow and whispered greeting, he began to lead them up the stairs and towards the nursery. Lucius stopped several feet before the door, and began remove the anti-apparation and Portkey wards that layered the house. Evan stood beside him, swaying back and forth as he found loopholes in the wards against malicious harm._

_Wormtail stood a respectful distance away from the door, and was looking towards the ceiling with glossy eyes. Voldemort let him be- he had already knocked out the house elves._

_He ran thin fingers over the names on the door, mouthing the names of the children he had come to kill, and stepped inside as it swung open. It closed behind him silently._

_There were two children, and of the two, one was awake. It was standing steadily on small feet, and looking directly at him. As he watched, something cracked in the blankness of its gaze, and it reached out a tiny hand._

_It opened its mouth and nothing came out, but all of a sudden the Dark Lord felt so very sad. He found himself picking the child up and holding it close, and as soon as he touched it something inside of him clicked into place. He looked at the child incredulously, but its eyes had closed and it was sleeping peacefully._

_He reached within himself, and again he felt the connection that was forming._

_This boy-Hadrian, if Wormtail was to be believed- was his son now as surely as he was the Potters. He could feel his magic reaching out to soothe Hadrian’s, and make its own mark on the boy. He watched in horrified awe as the rune sowilo was carved onto the baby’s head, and all at once knew what had happened._

_He himself had Hagl carved on the sole of his foot. He was what would destroy the earth, before a better one could arise. He was hail and sleet and bitter, unyielding determination._

_It was conceivable that Hadrian, who had been marked by lightning and sun, would destroy him. Perhaps he might have once, if Voldemort had left him to himself. But Voldemort could feel his magic- somehow; Hadrian was as dark as he was. He would banish night, and bring hope- but not to the side he might have._

_He placed the child down next to his brother, and gently wiped the blood from his forehead. Their magic was still mingling and merging, and Voldemort was wary of disrupting the tentative link between them._

_He looked at the other child, a normal looking child by general standards, and sighed as he slid a dagger from his sleeve. By now he was sure that the prophecy had spoken of Hadrian, but he would kill the other twin to be sure. He could accept Hadrian living as his equal, but he would not contemplate the other._

_He pressed the tip of the dagger against the base of the boy’s throat and was about to push down when the house shook._

_The door slammed open and Lucius came running in._

_“We must leave my Lord! There was an unseen failsafe in the portraits- one of the landscapes was occupied!”_

_Voldemort spun around quickly, dragging the dagger raggedly across the child’s throat as he did so. He looked down at the bleeding, choking child and the one his magic had marked, and hissed angrily._

_He was about to pick up Hadrian and disapperate, but the sensory Portkey in his pocket activated before he could do so. His wand fell out of his sleeve as tried to exert his will over the magic and delay it for a couple of seconds, but he was sent spiralling away to his manor before he could do anything, and once he landed, he collapsed screaming to the floor._

_The link between Hadrian and himself was too raw to withstand what had just happened. He felt blood pour from his ears and eyes as he tried to hold the worst of the damage back from the boy, but he could still feel the child’s pain echoing down the bond._

_He bit through his tongue and spit it out onto a horrified Lucius’s feet as he tried to keep from screaming. Slowly, he could feel the boy’s magic draining as it struggled to keep their link steadied from his side, and nothing his own steadily weakening magic could do would help._

_He clutched at himself, digging jagged holes in his sleeves and skin as he tried desperately to pump magic towards the boy- to save the child he had only just found; to bind the child to him again._

_Something foreign in him was terrified at the idea of losing him._

_Voldemort felt the boy’s connection flicker and dim, and with a chilling scream he opened every path to magic he had, and pushed it in one last wave towards the boy. Somewhere in his body, something cracked loudly, and he fell into unconsciousness._

_Slowly, haltingly, the bond slid back into place._

_XxX_

_Dumbledore was the first to arrive at the Potters, followed quickly by Lily, James and Sirius. They ventured cautiously through the front door, and started running towards the nursery when they heard both twins screaming._

_The nursery door was wide open, leaving a clear path to the twins._

_Charles was sitting and crying frantically; he was covered in blood and breathing with horrible, gurgling gulps. Lily ran to him and swiftly vanished the blood, running downstairs to the floo before anyone could stop her. They heard her yell ‘St Mungos’, before a whooshing noise announced her exit._

_Equally alarming was Harry, who was in a corner of the crib, sobbing painfully. The wooden post that was near his head was splintered and covered in blood. Sirius picked him up gently and attempted to hand him to James, but his friend had already left to follow his wife. He ignored his heavy heart and burning eyes, and took his tiny Godson to the hospital himself. He tried not to look at the mangled sight that was Harry’s face, but he couldn’t help it. He cried the whole way._

_Left alone, Dumbledore could feel the magic that saturated the air. On the floor was a long, knotted wand Dumbledore knew to be Voldemort’s, which he summoned to himself without touching. He placed it gingerly in his robes, and sighed to himself as he made his way out of the room and to the fireplace._

_He would need to visit the twins and see which one had been the one to vanquish Voldemort before the evidence faded. He needed to be certain._

_Tonight was one for celebration, but for now, he must work._

_XxX_

_It had been two days since Halloween, and Dumbledore was sitting with Lily and James in his office._

_Charles lay quietly sleeping in a bassinet beside Lily._

_He had spent the last 72 hours examining every piece of evidence that had presented itself, scouring his library for long forgotten books, and studying the two children extensively. He hadn’t eaten, had barely slept, and had survived on Potions made by an equally tired Severus Snape. He finally felt he could give the Potters, and consequently the world, the answer to a very important question._

_“Charles is the boy-who-lived.”_

_James looked ecstatic, but Lily seemed cautious._

_“Are you sure, Headmaster? It would be a very terrible mistake if you were wrong.”_

_James looked Lily with an expression of acute horror, and Dumbledore smothered his own anger at her impertinence._

_“He bears all of the signs. All evidence points to it being him.”_

_Slowly Lily’s face relaxed, and she settled in to James’s side quietly._

_“What evidence professor?” Asked James, wrapping one arm carefully around his relieved wife._

_“Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, he bears the mark Tyr on his neck. He will be a God among men- a pillar to look up to. Voldemort may not have meant to, but he marked him in our favour._

_Secondly, his magic may only be average for his age group, but it is uncommonly pure. I assume his acting as the dominant twin in the womb had something to do with that, and I have no doubt it will increase in power as he grows._

_In contrast, his brother was not marked in any visible manner. The scars on his face are as a result of being thrown multiple times into the bedpost. It is amazing that he lived through the torture, but not a miracle. In addition, his magical level was well below average, and only just above squib level. It is also uncommonly dark.”_

_He waved his hands at the Potter’s worried looks and continued to speak._

_“I believe that both twins would have been neutral in magic, if not for Charles achieving dominance over Hadrian in the womb. Charles siphoned the light magic from his brother, and pushed his own darkness into him. He must have had very little darkness to begin with if Hadrian is so magically weak._

_I can find no reason that contradicts my conclusion, but if either of you can think of something, please tell me now.”_

_James said nothing, but Lily spoke up quietly._

_“What if Harry did it, but it used up most of his magic?”_

_Dumbledore nodded, and explained further._

_“Voldemort was vanquished by an unformed, unintelligible wish for him be vanquished. There was no spell, no words and no moulding of magic. When such an unconscious form of magic is utilised, it commonly draws from the environment around the person. Only spoken spells directed with a wand or wandless magic of intense focus depletes the magical core._

_Research suggests that children below four are not capable of such controlled wandless magic, and neither child had a wand or the words to utilise it. It seems that Charles felt the impurity of Voldemort’s magic, and must have unconsciously drawn energy from his surroundings to vanquish him. It would have made no difference to his magical core size, just as it would have made no difference to Harrys.”_

_Lily smiled and nodded, finally giving in to the excitement inside of her. Beside her, James squeezed her knee in equal elation._

_Charles was the boy-who-lived._

_ Two months later. _

_Harry had finally been allowed to leave the hospital. His brother had left a day after he had arrived, with a cauterised scar and a chocolate frog. James had not let them remove it._

_Harry had been given extensive doses of skele-gro for his shattered skull, which had to be altered constantly due to his age. His skin had been grown back and the mess of ruptured organs that were discovered had been carefully treated and nurtured back to health._

_He looked almost exactly as he had before, except for the small scar near his hairline that the medi-wizards had not been able to fix. It had been the deepest present, carving into his skull, and had bled constantly. Apparently it had etched itself onto his genetic makeup somehow and even when they tried to regrow the skin, it appeared again, though fainter than before. Eventually, they had left it._

_Harry didn’t mind- it was barely noticeable anyway. Somehow, it comforted him._

_Sirius and Severus had come to pick him up, and he enjoyed their awkward silence as they took him the long way home. They had both visited him every second day or so in the hospital, but never together. Harry was young, but he appreciated it._

_His parents had visited five times. All five times had been for the purposes of paperwork._

_As children do, he was looking forward to the comfort his parents brought, even if he wished it was more like the comfort they gave Charles._

_He had no idea that everything had changed, but he would soon._

_Within a few days, he would yearn for the simple kindness of the nurses in white._

_ End Flashback. _

The elves knew that something had changed.

Nap- the elf that usually brought Hadrian his meals and books- had been replaced by an older elf called Marrow. She was the only female elf the Potter’s owned, and had been alive since Hadrian’s great-grandparents had lived in the manor. She was the only one to speak with the inflection and intelligence of a wizard, and had managed to turn her pillowcase into a makeshift uniform. Usually, she trained and guided the younger elves, and generally kept out of sight and mind of the current Potters.  

Sometimes older elves could be traded for younger ones; younger elves were sprightlier and more hardy- but older elves had a more potent magic. Their skin and organs were saturated in magic that increased the potency of several potions, and they were quite valuable as ingredients on the black market.

Marrow did not think that the Potters would give her such a fate, but it was still a fear that all house elves had.

Unbeknownst to the Potters, Marrow had sent Nap to work in the kitchens, and had given herself permission to watch the boy. The Potters had made no rules forbidding such conduct, and she seized upon their loose words with the certainty of a being with iron determination.

Currently, she was watching from the shadows as the young Master sat on his bed reading an old book on muggle fairy-tales. The Potters allowed him to read as much as he wanted, but they refused to buy books specifically for him. His only choices were his brother’s childish comics, or the dry books from his parent’s library. The fairy-tale book was the only one that was slightly appropriate for an intelligent and intellectually hungry six year old.

She watched as he sighed and placed the finished book beside him, and stared blankly at the ceiling in boredom. His head was turned slightly towards the window, where the sounds of his brother’s laughter could be heard. Every now and then, the shadow of two people flying would pass over the room, and Hadrian’s own expression would darken as well.

Slowly, she stepped out of the shadows, and cleared her throat.

“Young Master Harry, sir. I is Marrow, your new elf.”

Hadrian didn’t jump, but he sat up quickly and pierced her with a hard stare.

“Nap was being sent to the kitchens to work, Young Master. Marrow is more suited to Master Harry now.”

Hadrian stood carefully and walked over to her with smooth steps, stopping in front of her and crouching sightly. He looked deeply into her wide blue eyes for a long while, and then gently smiled a small smile. Shadows she hadn’t noticed before leisurely unravelled from her own, and disappeared back into Hadrian’s.

She felt warmth bloom within her at the sight, and smiled gladly back at him. Hadrian gently took her hand and led her to the bed where he gestured that they should sit together, facing each other on the blankets. She did so- determined to make a good impression- and was startled when he spoke.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms Marrow,” he rasped.

She tried to speak against the use of an honorific in front of her name, but with a firm slicing motion, he stopped her.

“You are a mother?” he asked.

She nodded.

“A mate?”

She nodded again.

“You work hard, you are loved and you deserve respect. You are Ms Marrow.”

She felt tears decades old boil in her eyes and fall over her cheeks, and she began shaking her head and trying to pull her hand from his- but he wouldn’t let go. This meeting wasn’t going how she had expected at all, and it was distressing. He reached over and gently dried her eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and waited patiently for her to stop.

She felt appalled that she had let the kind words of a child reduce her to tears, but she reminded herself with a quick look into cold eyes that he was no mere child.

Now calm, she whispered her thanks, and patted his knee with a wrinkled hand.

“You are here for a reason.” He stated.

She nodded, and felt excitement and anxiety build in her again.

“Young Master Harry has finally accepted his mark,” she said. “Marrow is here to help.”

Hadrian reached a hand up to rub absently at the scar on his forehead and let his shadows seep out and embrace him, turning his hair into a riotous blaze of flickering, back flames.

He looked over at Marrow when she gasped, and asked her something he had been thinking of for a long time.

“You know what this means?” He said, gesturing at the scar.

She nodded and sat up on her knees, reaching out tremulous hands to touch it gently. The shadows engulfed her in warmth as she touched them, and she smiled a toothy smile.

“Master Harry has been touched by old magic he has. Master Harry is the sun now. He is the day.”

Harry looked at her blankly, before turning to his shadows with an ironic expression and raising an eyebrow.

She laughed loudly and sat back down, all but bouncing in place.

“Sig, Master Potter, or Sowilo as the wizards call it, is a rune that promises hope, protection and victory. It is the triumph of day over night and Summer over Winter. Just because you are the sun Master Potter doesn’t mean you are of the light. The light wizards already have a sun. It’s the dark wizards that need one. And there be other creatures that need one too.”

She flushed and avoided eye contact.

“You have been chosen you have, by magic.”

Hadrian said nothing, and sat quietly processing all that he had been told.  He couldn’t do much about his apparent responsibilities now but ensure he lived with an open mind. In time, he imagined he might be able to do something about them if he wished, but currently his biggest worry was his upcoming disinheritance.

Still, if he was marked by magic, why hadn’t it been present at birth? He asked Marrow this, and was rewarded by an answer he had not been expecting.

“Mr Dark Lord was chosen first he was.  But he was too much ice in an already cold community. Magic gave him you, to melt the cold and make life.”

He was beyond dumfounded at the reply, and had no idea what to say or do. He had a vague recollection of surprised red eyes, and tenderness, then horrible, mind rending pain.

It was too much for him to comprehend, even as developed as he was. He began shaking unconsciously, until gentle shadows and old hands lay him down. He heard a voice singing in a strange language and felt fingers stroke his hair, and eventually- he fell asleep.

XxX

In Malfoy manor, an alarm sounded.

Lucius dropped his book in alarm, before realising what it meant, and thanked Merlin that Narcissa had taken Draco to France for a week.

He wasted no time on adjusting his appearance, and ran swiftly towards the blue wing with an anxious heart. He stopped in front of the furthermost guest room, took a moment to brace himself, and opened the door.

On the bed, in the centre of the room, lay the Dark Lord. Ever since That Night he had been comatose. Not even mediwizards could help him, bar fixing the other strange injuries he had sustained. They hadn’t been able to locate a problem, and had left frustrated, confused and obliviated.

Lucius had taken him from the Riddle Manor, and brought him to his own home, so that he could better watch over him. He had told none of the Dark Lord’s location, and had decided on letting the reassuring sting of the mark speak for itself.

He hurried over to the bed, intent on checking for deterioration before calling for help, when he noticed something astonishing.

The Dark Lord was awake.

A/N

I’m sure there are different interpretations of the Runes I chose, but below are the explanations I based mine on. I can’t remember the site I got them from.

**Hagl**

Hail is hard and cold and destructive. But unlike the destructive force of thorn this is not a chaotic force but a natural one, part of the order of the world. After the destruction the hail turns to water, nourisher of man and crops alike. This is an important lesson to the athling. Everything is a tool. Everything furthers. Even something so totally destructive and harmful as hail leaves something usable behind. When this lesson is grasped in fullness it can be seen that there is no failure, for every loss is an opportunity for gain. Even a complete failure offers the knowledge of what not to do in the future, and so brings the athling one step closer to success. Striving leads to failure, failure leads to wisdom, wisdom leads to maturity, maturity leads to success. When a thing is broken into pieces the opportunity, which did not exist before, comes into being of being able to build a new, stronger thing in its place.

 

**Tyr**

Tyr was originally held highest among the gods, the original sky-father, supplanted in this position by Odin at a later date. He is a warrior god. He is a god of martial skill, moral rectitude, honour, law, social order, bravery, and absolute justice. He is a god who values the letter of one's word as the heart of honour. His unyielding, inflexible nature gives him great power and skill in battle. It gives him high standing in society, honour, and renown. There are disadvantages to this approach as well, though. That which cannot bend can be broken. Great, unswerving focus can bring great strength, but it can bring many missed opportunities. To see only the road ahead is to not see those to the side.

 

**Sig**

This rune is the rune of the sun's rays. A guide, a hope, a protector, banisher of the night, destroyer of ice, sig is the active power of the sun. The vikings may also have seen the sun's rays and the lightning bolt as being the same phenomenon. In any case this is a rune of victory for the forces of weal; The triumph of day over night, of summer over winter. As the athling strives towards victory, he or she should know how to obtain it.

 


	4. The third

**Authors Note:** _One reviewer pointed out that this wasn’t **technically** a Wrong-boy-who-lived story, so I quickly changed some words around in the previous chapter and in a similar vein of thought- it is now a Wrong-chosen-one story. Similar ideas drive both, but it is more logical for Dumbledore to focus on the explicit words of the prophecy and who defeated Voldemort than the fact that they survived the attack._

_Please ask if you have any further questions, or corrections. I do not have a Beta._

_Also, the chapters should start becoming more upbeat after this one._

**Warnings:** _Alluded death. Abuse._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

_ An excerpt from ‘Heirs and their duties’ written by Rudolph Samson, 1989 _

_It is not unheard of for an heir to be magically disinherited, but not common. A magical disinheritance does not remove the person from the family tree or alter them physically in any way; the disinheritance involves a ritual that cuts them from the family magic, and makes them reliant on their own core. Upon their coming of age, they will receive no hereditary traits or gifts._

_In the past heirs have been disinherited for various reasons, listed below:_

  * _Actions that bring shame or unwelcome attention upon the family_
  * _Incidents that cripple or disrupt their magic_
  * _Infertility_
  * _Being a squib, or below-par in magic_



_In the case of squibs, the only magic they possess is the link to their family’s magic, which they cannot access. The magical disinheritance cuts them completely from this link, and renders them a muggle._

_In contrast, the ‘Binding of the Blood’ is a form of inheritance that requires a great breach in conduct against the family code to perform. Unlike a magical disinheritance, the ‘Binding of the Blood’ has a high chance of death and carries a much greater stigma. The person accused must be judged before the law before action can be taken._

_A Binding can only occur once a family member has been magically cast out, and involves seven lengthy rituals used to purge the person of their blood. If the guilty is alone in his trials, and has no donor, they will die._

_In extremely rare instances, a child can divorce themselves from their family. Because of its scarcity, no laws surround this phenomena, which is not borne of ritual or spell. It has happened twice in the history of our kind, and one of the people- a child- died. It is assumed a surrogate family is needed to complete the process._

_XxX_

It had been three years since Harry had turned Six. In that time, several things had happened.

Three weeks after Harry met Marrow, the ritual that the Potter’s had commissioned the Goblins to do finished. Harry was still a Potter by blood, but he had been cut from the family magic and could no longer inherit his right as heir.

He hadn’t been told the details of what would happen. One day his mother had taken his blood, the next day his father had shouted Charles’s upcoming elevation from the hallway, and then a few weeks later he had been struck with a headache that took a month to leave. It hadn’t hurt terribly, but it had left him cold and sore and cursed with an unnameable sadness.

Marrow had sat with him and comforted him as needed, and listened to his grief and anger.

Soon afterwards, Hadrian requested that Marrow bring him books from the library that he had never properly understood before. She brought him textbooks and essays, fiction and biographies; together they sat side by side at night and read them, and little by little began to understand the world beyond the attic.

Initially, nothing interested Harry beyond a general drive to be better (better than what, or whom- he didn’t know), but his father’s texts on dark wizards seemed particularly biased to Harry, especially considering the comfort his shadows provided. He knew that his father was not an open-minded or generous man, and it made him itch to read a more accurate account of his abilities; he had only found a vague reference, and what it had said was not comforting, or even informative.

Similarly, after reading about the willing servitude of house elves and watching Marrow burst into angry tears, he learnt about the various types of creatures the Wizarding world harboured, light and dark all. He had no doubt that there was some truth to the discrimination spread throughout the books, but he refused to believe anything that held wizards above everything else with such vigour.

The shadows he appeared to be born with were controlled instinctively. He could move and manipulate them as he wished, but they grew in strength and size every few months and he spent a good portion of his time ensuring he could still control it.

Once, about a year after the ritual, he had felt a surge of anger burn through his scar so hot and fierce, the shadows he had been manipulating had burnt vivid rope-like scars into his hands, and had lashed out at him for months afterwards. He had taken the pain and used it as motivation to once again dominate the power, ignoring the fear that sat heavily in the back of his mind. Eventually, it had descended from its mindless fury and settled back into its general state of warm serenity. Every now and then the darkness would seep from his fingertips and stroke the scars with sad remorse, but the scars he bore reminded him daily of the other side to his darkness.

He had a relationship with his magic beyond words and emotions, and he knew that pain or not- scars or not- they were intrinsically bound together. Sometimes it would test its boundaries and lick at his skin with more fire than smoke, but he had learnt to keep a tight reign over it. It was more of a child than he was sometimes, with all the curiosity and simple cruelty they possessed. Despite that, at the end of the day it had a depth and age to it that comforted him.

Marrow assured him it was normal, and that it was still attempting to gain its bearings now that it had been reawakened; when asked how she knew, she replied that many years ago another Potter had been marked like him, and her grandmother had attended him.

Hadrian had been surprised, and then ecstatic. He requested of Marrow that she tell him all she knew of him.

Roman Potter had been an oddity from birth, just like he had been. He had rejected the Potter genes completely and inherited his mother’s blond hair and golden skin. He had grown into a tall and handsome young man, and was murdered at the age of 23 by his brother. It was his brother that James was descended from.

Roman had been marked by Sowali as well, and unlike Hadrian, was as golden and bright as the side he supported. He had suppressed the powers his mark brought out of fear; and he was right to fear.

His mother accepted the unavoidable emergence of his powers on his 16th birthday, as did his father; his brother, and the world- did not. Unlike Hadrian, his magic had been more static than fire and more smoke than shadow, but it had intimidated the world enough that when his parents died, and his brother killed him, minimal action was taken.

The world had lost a great man before he had become one, and nobody knew.

 Except for Mimsy, Marrow’s grandmother.

Mimsy had spent her remaining time on earth telling her son about Roman, and his treacherous brother. She educated him on Roman’s Powers and his purpose, and told him everything she knew about it in the hopes that one day another Potter would be born to right the universal wrong that had been made.

Moot, Marrow’s father, had taught her the same.

So now, several hundred years later, Marrow was teaching Hadrian.

XxX

Among things that had changed was the Potter’s treatment of Hadrian.

They let him visit the library, observation room and towers with no restrictions, but he still was not allowed outside, and had now been forbidden from venturing from his room on special days like his brother’s birthday.

He was a ghost. He hadn’t seen his mother in person since the day she had taken his blood, and he only saw his brother in passing, whereupon his brother would stare at him like he was an alien, then scowl and run away.

On the other hand, his father visited him in the attic at least once a week. When he left, Hadrian’s ears rang with his father’s hate filled words and his arms ached from where he had been held and bruised. James became frustrated very quickly, with politics, work, and life in general and Hadrian was a safe, family friendly outlet. Every now and then he would slap Hadrian, or push him into a wall, but he only managed it once or twice each time before something in Hadrian’s eyes stopped him.

Hadrian could see the anger that built in his eyes when he became physical, and knew that eventually whatever had been stopping him would fail to do so. He took a morbid curiosity in predicting the day it would happen, and why. Marrow didn’t like it, but at his insistence, she placed a bet on the year of his sorting. They had no doubt he wouldn’t be a Gryffindor.

Hadrian thought it would be sooner- within the year even- and didn’t bother to think of what would set it off.  His father was subconsciously looking for a reason to take it further anyway.

Currently, Hadrian was in the tallest tower, looking out over the gardens. It was lunchtime, and his family were outside having a picnic near the roses. Marrow sat beside him, leaning against him tiredly; despite her clear mind and steady hands, she was still very old.

She was humming a song she would have sung to her child had she been able to have one, and it settled sweetly around their shoulders.

“Is it nice outside Ms Marrow?” whispered Hadrian. He was looking at the grass that his brother ran on, trying to imagine what it would feel like under his feet.

Marrow stopped humming and looked at him sadly.

“Very much so, Master Hadrian. You’ve never known happiness until wind brushes your hair, or the sun blesses your skin. It’s like your body is taking its first breath, and the air holds the secrets of the entire world.

The ground is not like the stone we rest on. It warms and cools, and moulds around you.

The earth is full of magic. I have no doubts that were you to go outside, you would feel it.”

Hadrian nodded slightly, and went back to staring at his brother.

Marrow felt something tighten in her chest, and she reached out a gentle hand to touch the boy’s cheek, where a yellow bruise was just visible.

“One day, Master Hadrian, you’ll hear the earth sing to you. When that happens, all creatures born of it will know you, and you will forever be loved. You will never be alone.”

She held him as he sat stiffly, looking blankly at the sky; he cried silently as he shook in her arms, and she felt her heart break as he reached a tiny hand over to grasp her tunic with white knuckles.

Shadows circled them, brushing tears away with invisible fingers, crooning with invisible voices. The air was thick with pain and longing, and outside, three figures paused as a feeling of sorrow echoed briefly in their minds.

Hadrian bit his tongue, trying to stop the unpleasant emotions from overtaking him, and tried to refocus his mind on pleasant things. He swept his vision over to the roses, and found himself caught by his father’s stare.

There was something strange about his father. Hadrian couldn’t understand what was causing the chill that raced up his spine, but his shadows spiked and licked hotly at his skin. He knew his father couldn’t see them- they had retreated when he attempted to calm down, and now circled his wrist tightly- but he felt uneasy.

His father lifted a hand to wave, and all at once Hadrian knew what was making him ill.

His father was smiling at him.

Far below James Potter laughed as his oldest son led the house elf out of the tower and left without looking back. He waved off his wife’s curious expression and his son’s increasing questions, and continued laughing loudly, long after Hadrian had made it back to his room.

XxX

Hadrian hadn’t seen Marrow all day.

It had been a week since that day in the tower, and James hadn’t been up to visit him once. Hadrian watched him leave the house nearly every day, apparating as soon as he reached the end of the drive with a sickening wave at Harry, who he somehow knew would be watching.

It drove Hadrian mad to see it, and only Marrow’s constant calm words and warm smile kept him from doing something foolish.

And now he couldn’t find her.

He had gone to the kitchens and asked for Nap- his old elf.

Nap had come at once, and told him in a voice laden with fear that no elf had seen hide or hair of her since the day before. Nap’s mate came forward as she started crying, and led her away to sit down, content that he could do so in the presence of this Potter in particular. He whispered to her in a surprisingly low voice, and accepted the rag another elf brought him to wipe her eyes. Marrow had been a mother to all of them, and the worry was obviously affecting them. If ever Harry noticed a difference between how an elf acted alone, and how they acted with wizards- now was it.

Every elf agreed with Nap’s statement, and so Harry had left with no new information and something horrible that pressed heavily against his heart, and crawled with sharpened fingers in his throat.

He had walked every corridor and asked every portrait, and not a one could help him. One with blonde hair and a handsome face had watched him with sad eyes, but his mouth was melted in a mess of reds and pinks that dripped down his neck and collar, and he could offer no comfort.

It took all Hadrian had to breathe normally and walk at a decent pace, but his mind was screaming at him to panic- to run and scream and cry, and do all sorts of things that Marrow had accepted in him, that he had tried to repress.

He eventually made his way back to the attic, walking down the empty corridor with small steps. It was raining, and dark, and he had a lonely night ahead of him with no Marrow to sing to him, or read with him.

He reached the end of the hall, and looked at the string dangling from the ceiling with the greatest reluctance. He pulled it and the stairs swung down.

Something was bothering him. Something that burrowed within his fear and made it spike and grow. He looked about the corridor, but nothing was out of place; the walls were grey and barren- empty of any portraits. There was no furniture on the floor, which was as miserable and cold as ever.

He shivered, and placed a foot on the bottom rung, before freezing in fear.

Each step was covered in dirt. Dirt that had not been there when he had left.

He took shallow breaths and climbed up the ladder, keeping his shoulders hunched and his head down. It was dark when he finally emerged in his room, but a horrible blow to his head let him know that his father was there.

He lay curled on the floor where he had been thrown, shaking from the pain in his head. The room faded in and out of view, shrinking and growing in size as he tried to focus his eyes. He watched as his father closed the hatch and silenced the room. Slowly and deliberately, his father walked towards him, serenaded by the thunder that shook his room and the lightening that split the sky.

He tried to move, but his limbs were too weak. He tried to call for help, but his tongue was too heavy. He tried to draw from the shadows, but he was too confused- too dizzy and sick. Everything he had relied on before was out of his reach, and all he could do was hang limply as his father picked him up and shook him.

“I knew you were worthless from the moment of your birth. You were the oldest- my heir- and yet it was your brother that took the extra magic for himself. Something an older twin has never failed at before- you managed.

And then Snape- that bastard- took a liking to you; you had Sirius acting civil to Snivellous- civil!

You were strange and pale and had those freakish eyes, and they only got worse. No boy of mine should be _pretty_! No boy of mine should be little better than a _squib_!

There is nothing redeeming about you, but bless her heart- your mother tried. She tried so hard to love you, but it’s impossible to love something _unlovable_.”

James threw Hadrian into the wall, and trod deliberately on his hand as he stood in front of him to lift him up again. The child let out a high pitched noise of pain, and James squeezed the hand as punishment.

“Your mother doesn’t love you. I don’t love you. To your brother, you’re nothing more than a bad memory of something he wants to forget.”

Hadrian slipped briefly into darkness, before a slap from James woke him up.

“Don’t ignore me!” James roared. “You don’t have the right to dismiss me! You took everything from me- my friends, my dreams, my perfect life. Do you know what it’s like to go out in public and have the reporters _always_ ask where you are? What does it matter!”

A scream ripped from Hadrian as his father smashed his head into the wall and left him in a crumbled heap at his feet.

“Despite all of that- despite the pain and irritation you have caused me- you walk around here like nothing is wrong; like you’re innocent.

“Let me tell you something boy,” James hissed, bending down to look straight in Hadrian’s clouded eyes, “there has never been, and never will be anything innocent about you. As soon as you slip up- just the tiniest mistake- you will be completely removed from any Potter ancestry you possess.

How does Hadrian no-name sound?

How does death?”

He laughed a terrible, harrowing laugh, and kicked the sobbing nine year old in his ribs, before moving back slightly and staring at him venomously.

“Nobodies have nothing boy; nowhere to live, nowhere to go and definitely, no one to love.

I thought I’d be kind and take the first step in your long journey of solitude.”

He reached into his robes and pulled out a small sack. It was common and brown, but even through his pain and delusions, Hadrian didn’t want to touch it.

He watched as his father opened it, and plucked a large gold coin from its seemingly endless depths.

He flinched as it was flicked at him, hitting him in the shoulder and rolling away to clatter somewhere in the dark.

“I thought long and hard about it, but it seemed the fair thing to do. One gallon out of fifty-three boy, and it’s all yours.”

Harry said nothing; his father loomed over him a terrifying, wavering giant of shadow, and he was trying not to slip away into sleep, where he was completely defenceless. He tried again to do something-anything- but got nothing more than a vague answer in the back of his head where his shadows rested. He could feel them, struggling to even trickle to his aid- but the pain in his head was rattling his teeth and dimming his thoughts

“You’ve got no manners. Where’s my ‘thank-you sir’? Where’s my ‘I’m not worth it sir’? Well I’m telling you, I did this all with you in mind. It’s nothing more than you deserve.”

James bent down and leant in to the crumbled heap on the floor, pushing his mouth close to his child’s ear.

“Where’s your elf boy?”

Harry froze. He turned his head to look at his father, and whispered with soundless lips the denials he could not stop.

His father smiled, and Harry broke.

All of the pain he was feeling- all of the heartache and battered bones- exploded outwards. James was thrown backwards to the far end of the room, where he hit his head on Hadrian’s bed post, and was knocked unconscious.

The veil that had muffled and tangled Hadrian’s thoughts had been lit aflame, and shadows burst from his skin in black ropes of fire, wrapping around him and pulling him to his feet. He stumbled, and a shadow caught him. He screamed, and a shadow howled with him.

He stalked towards his father with limbs of smoke and hatred.

He wanted to burn the man; to pour shadows down his throat until his teeth sunk into a puddle of white.

If he could have, he would have turned him into an elf, and gutted him.

But Hadrian did none of those things. He reached with trembling hands to the the sack that lay so innocently beside his father, and put it in his own pocket.

His shadows writhed and struggled, furious at the man for what he had done, but could not move beyond the hold Hadrian had on them.

“One day,” Hadrian rasped, and the shadows flickered in hunger.

He limped to his cupboard and picked up his only item of value- a key- and turned back towards his father.

He couldn’t leave without some form of harm befalling the man- some partial type of retribution, but he had a thousand ideas and too much pain to pay back.

He looked at the man’s face and felt disgust course through him. He was related to this man; he was of his blood.

Something stirred in the back of his mind, old and sympathetic, and words trickled into his mouth like spring water.

“You are not my father.” He hissed. “I have no mother, no brother, and nothing that ties me to you.

I am not of your heart. I am not of your soul. I am not of your magic.

Let me not be of your blood.”

Light burst from him, and he thought for a moment it would hurt, but his shadows twirled around it, embracing the light like a friend and lover. Neither cancelled the other out, and his breath caught in his throat at the beauty of it.

The light struck his father, and streaked through the floor to the house below.

He saw James tremor and wake, arching off the floor with wide eyes.

Hadrian was terrified, and horribly fascinated, but hurried painfully to the trap door in lieu of watching. He could hear screaming coming from the floor below, but didn’t satisfy his curiosity; his shadows were padding his steps with quickened motions, and he felt the urgent need to leave.

He stumbled through the corridors, knocking vases from tables and tumbling into portraits. A few yelled at him, but some of the older ones- the ones like the blond man with the strange mouth- watched him with silent smiles.

He reached the front door, clutching at his chest and head desperately. His vision was darkening again, and he felt dizzy; his face was sticky with blood. The light he had been following- one his shadows were pulling him towards- went directly through the door, which was locked.  He tugged at the door with trembling hands, but nothing happened. He couldn’t breathe, it hurt to move, and his heart was cutting at him with its broken shards, trembling at his feet.

Suddenly, Nap popped up beside him, eyeing him with wide, watery eyes.  She looked at the pulsing light and his beaten appearance, and let out a sound of disbelief.

“Map be wondering why she can’t feel young Master anymore. Map was worried Master had gone with…Marrow. Map’s Finny be telling Map to check why Master is not Master anymore.”

She was looking at the door and speaking to the wood, but every now and then she would flick her eyes towards Hadrian or the light.

“Map can see now; map has not seen Master. Map needs fresh air to calm down from her mistake.”

She flicked her finger, and the door creaked open.

“If Map still had Master, she would have told him Map loved Master too, like Marrow.”

She hiccupped and scrubbed tears from her face with the hem of her uniform.

Hadrian wanted to reach out to her, or tell her something that could ease her thoughts, but he could barely keep himself from breaking down.

He staggered through the door, pausing to briefly rest his hand on her shoulder, and tumbled out into the night as she burst into sobs and popped away.

The light in front of him was flickering, and dimming, and something squeezed at his chest, propelling him forward. He pushed through his agony and heartache, and stumbled forward with desperate, reaching footsteps.

He could see the end of the driveway where the wards ended, and the shimmering ball of light that shone there, illuminating the yard that he had never set foot in in his life. Memories and pain flashed through his head, and he swam through them as he struggled onwards.

He reached the boundary at last, and fell with leaden limbs into the light; the light flared red and spiked, and with no other fanfare, he disappeared.

XxX

All over the world, creatures of earth and shadow paused. The earth throbbed and sung, and somehow, hope crept into the hearts of those listening.

Somewhere out there, a Lord had been found.

The earth had her new champion.


End file.
